


Haunted Heart

by GratiaPlena



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, F/F, Holby Halloween Monster Mash 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GratiaPlena/pseuds/GratiaPlena
Summary: Serena completes complex trauma surgery with the help of a mysterious consultant. A consultant that no one else heard or saw in theatre. Who is this mysterious stranger?Written for the Berena Halloween Monster Mash 2018 challenge!To convince you to read this story, here is what some famous Holby consultants have said about it:Hanssen:“I would advise against reading this. I would prefer that you didn’t read fiction in the workplace.”Gaskell:“I thought there was room for a few more character deaths in this story.”Jac:“This story did nothing for me. I don’t have a soul. ”Ric:“This story reminds me of my fourth wife. That’s all I want to say about it.”Bernie:“As romances go, it is a bit of a non-starter.”Serena:“Yeah, it’s not exactly Mills & Boon is it?”Also Serena:“I can’t stand romances in the workplace.”Also Bernie:*leans against something*The universe:*makes sudden and complete sense*Well, well!  After those ringing endorsements... what are you waiting for?!





	1. Chapter 1

Serena pushed open the doors to the scrub in room. _Well this was just great...!_ She had just half an hour left before the end of her shift, when a patient was brought in that had been in car accident. He needed abdominal surgery, according to the emergency department.  
“This is exactly why we need a trauma unit,” she said angrily to Raf, who was already scrubbing in.  
“You are preaching to the choir,” he replied. “What do you think then?” He nodded towards the patient, who was being wheeled in.  
“Let’s not _think_ ,” Serena said, vigourously scrubbing her arms. “Let’s just open him up and see.” She wasn’t in the mood for a game of medical charades. She just wanted to stop the bleed, and go home already.  
She sighed, thinking about the stack of papers on her desk, that she had been hoping to reduce significantly, but no - it was just one thing after another today. It looked like she wouldn’t be home for another three hours at the minimum, having to deal with Jason being upset with her unpredictable hours, and then coming in tomorrow with the prospect of a day full of paperwork - again!  
“Come on, come on!” she chided a nurse, who hadn’t run up quite fast enough to tie her surgical gown. “Let’s do this, everyone. Mr. di Lucca, will you open?” 

And of _bloody_ course - it didn’t turn out to be a straightforward abdominal vascular problem, but a juxtahepatic venous injury, that a specialist had to be paged down for. But - just their luck - the specialist wouldn’t be able to join them for another half an hour at least! If (and this was a big IF) the patient survived another thirty minutes of bleeding, they would then be in theater for a couple of hours more. Serena would not taste a drop of wine before 9 tonight at the earliest, for crying out loud!  
“What are we supposed to do in the mean time?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did ms. Specialist say? Do we stand here and watch the patient bleed out?!”  
“I hope you’re not serious,” a husky female voice replied.  
Serena spun around to see who was daring to speak back in her theater. “What did you say?” she snapped.  
“Eh...nothing,” said Raf.  
Serena didn’t even turn her head to look at him, but continued to stare down the stranger in her theater. The eyes above the stranger’s mask were a lively brown, adorned with light laugh lines. She looked tall, and quite formidable, standing calmly next to the patient, arms crossed in front of her. “Can you hear me?” she said.  
“Too right.” said Serena, quickly running out of all patience that she never had in the first place. “Pray tell, what are you doing in my theater?”  
“Ehm..,” said Raf nervously. “Ms. Campell, everything ok?”  
“Ms. Campbell? Bernie Wolfe, trauma surgeon. Enchanted I’m sure. We clearly don’t have time to wait for the specialist. Are you familiar with the procedure to place an atriocaval shunt?”  
“No, are you?” asked Serena.  
“I..I..,” said Raf, but Serena waved at him to shush.  
“Can’t say I am, but I’m familiar with blunt hepatic trauma, and I’ve read a couple of articles about atriocaval shunts. I'm positive that I know the procedure well enough.” She held up her gloved hands. “I can’t join in, I’m afraid. Work related injury. But I’ll talk you through it. We can do this, Ms. Campbell.” She looked up, and Serena felt a calm spread through her. “Unless you have an alternative?” 

Serena huffed. She hardly had another plan. This might be the patient’s only chance.  
“Right. We’re doing this. Prepare for an atriocaval shunt!” she commanded her team. A collective gasp resounded in the theater, but none of them were willing contradict her at this moment. They all valued their lives and careers too much.

A hush descended upon them, as they worked on saving the patient’s life. Serena found that Ms. Wolfe seemed to anticipate her every question and she spoke clearly, correcting Serena’s technique when necessary, but never in a haughty way. When it came time to test whether the shunt would hold, everyone held their breath. Applause erupted when the procedure seemed to have gone according to plan; the patient had a chance of full recovery. “Thank you so much,” Serena smiled to Bernie. Wolfe. She smiled back, her eyes above the mask showing all the little laugh lines. “You’re very welcome. Girl power!” Serena giggled and wanted to high five the woman, but Bernie held up her hands and shook her head.  
“Ah sorry,” said Serena. “I forgot. Thank you though. And thank you everyone. Great job. Does Fletch have a late shift, today, Raf?”  
Raf nodded.  
“Then you go home, I’ll close up.” 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell,” the voice of Mr. Hanssen sounded over the speaker. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask Mr. di Lucca to close. Can I have a word with you? _Now?_ ”

Oh, _goody_ , thought Serena, dreading the conversation already, as she took off her gloves and gown. Would there be a problem that she had to deal with as deputy CEO, or a problem for her as manager of AAU? A hospital romance perhaps? Oh, she was so _bored_ of those. Whatever mr. Hanssen wanted, she hoped it wouldn’t come with another stack of forms to wade through at a later date.  
Right, she said to herself, let’s get his managerial talk over with. The sooner this was done with, the sooner she would be home and her every last cell would be blissfully soaked in wine. She deserved it.

But it turned out that Mr. Hanssen didn’t want to talk shop at all. He berated her for attempting - nay perfectly executing - an atriocaval shunt, of all the inane things he could have a go at her for. “Is this the new NHS? Getting told off for _saving_ a patient’s life?!” she asked.

But he just asked her questions in return. What had she been thinking? Were there no alternatives? Could she have waited for the specialist to arrive? Was she aware of the legal consequences, had it gone wrong?  
Serena had to bite her tongue not to reply with a list of equally rethorical questions of her own, such as: was he aware that she had seen the inside of a theatre before? Was he aware that she had both a a medical degree and a business degree, from Harvard no less? Did he know there was a bottle of wine waiting for her at home, and he was currently standing in between her and that utter bliss?  
But by the grace of the Almighty alone, she calmly replied that she was fully aware - and anyway, shouldn’t he be having a go at Ms. Wolfe who suggested the surgery in the first place?

“Who is she?” he asked, walking besides her through the long corridors.

“The trauma surgeon that was guiding me through the procedure. Didn’t you say you had been watching us operate for a while?”

“Hm, I was. I didn’t observe her,” said Mr. Hanssen. “Besides, we don’t employ a trauma surgeon.”

“Was she on secondment from St. James?” asked Serena.

“I am unaware of any such secondment. What did you say her name was?”

“Ms. Wolfe.” 

“Ms. Wolfe, trauma surgeon for the RAMC?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Serena said, wanting to wrap the conversation up. “She didn’t say where she was from.” 

“Ms. Berenice Wolfe?” 

“Bernie Wolfe, yeah.” 

Mr. Hanssen suddenly spun around on his heels, and rapidly walked back to the operating rooms. Perplexed, Serena followed him. 

“Ms. Berenice Wolfe?” he said through the intercom system. None of her team looked up. 

“No, she’s not here anymore,” said Serena. 

“You can say that again,” said Mr. Hanssen under his breath.

Serena frowned at him. “I think she must have scrubbed out shortly after me. She couldn’t currently operate, you see. Work related injury.” 

“Ah yes, I am well aware of her injuries,” said Mr. Hanssen.

“What is that supposed to mean, Henrik?” Serena was beyond impatient now. “Look, can we wrap this up? I want to go home.” 

“Absolutely not,” replied mr. Hanssen. “Mr. di Lucca,” he said through the intercom. “Please come to my office immediately after you are done here.”

“Henrik, what’s going on?”

“Not here,” he said. “My office. Now.”

They walked through the hallways and up stairs in silence. He closed the door to his office behind them, and gestured to Serena that she sit down. She remained standing, tapping her foot impatiently.  
“Very well,” he said, as he sat down himself. Then he spoke calmly, yet clearly:  
“I know ms. Wolfe’s injuries well, because she came to this hospital for treatment. She was involved in an accident with improvised roadside explosives in Afghanistan, during her latetst - and dare I say _last_ \- employment. She was flown in for heart and spinal surgery.”

“Okay, I don’t need her entire biography,” said Serena walking up to his desk. “Get to the point please.”

“The point is this,” said Mr. Hanssen. “We were unsuccesful.” He peered up at Serena through his glasses. “We were unsuccesful, and she died during surgery. She died in theatre three weeks ago.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What?” whispered Serena. She sat down in the chair in front of mr. Hanssen’s desk.

“There must be a logical explanation,” said Mr.Hanssen. “You may have heard the name wrong.”

“Y..yes, I must have.”

“I shall see if there is a picture of her on the internet. Then you can compare.”

A nervous anticipation took hold of Serena. She found herself drumming on the arm rests of the chair. 

“Here it is...an older photograph, I believe.” Mr. Hanssen turned his monitor, so she could see. The photograph showed a young uniformed woman, with a kind smile, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Well...she obviously looked nothing like that today. I only saw her eyes above the mask…And she seemed older to me. More my age?”

“Right…She would be. Who else would have her expertise? Perhaps this was some kind of elaborate joke?” 

“I’m absolutely certain I have not worked with her before. And I don’t know anyone in this hospital who could successfully guide me through this procedure,” said Serena. “Besides, I had never heard her voice before either. I would have remembered.” 

“And you are quite sure that you...ehm..,” mr. Hanssen started. “Are you rather sure that someone… Did you eat enough...That is to say…”

“Go on. _Please_ do go on, Henrik,” Serena’s voice was low. She sat up, on the edge of her seat, as she spoke slowly. “Finish that thought out loud, if you please.”

Mr. Hanssen peered at her through his glasses. Then he sighed. A knock was heard, and Raf stuck his head around the door. “May I come in?” 

“Yes, please do,” said Mr. Hanssen, quickly looking over to Serena, and then gesturing for Raf to sit down. 

“Mr. di Lucca,” he said. “We were trying to establish which surgeons were present in the theater just now. Who would you say were there?”

“Eh...well just Serena and myself. We paged for a liver specialist, but she couldn’t arrive in time. She only arrived at the end, but didn’t join in with surgery.”

“Very well. And who, would you say, did Ms. Campbell converse with during the procedure?”

“With everyone there. But we didn’t speak much. We mostly worked in silence. It was an incredible procedure to witness.”

“Quite. Did it seem to you that Ms. Campbell had done the procedure before?” 

“Had you?” Raf looked at Serena incredulously. 

“Don’t be daft!” she replied.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Well, but she worked very calmly, very steadily.”

“Thank you, Mr. di Lucca. One last question, if you please. Would you recognise Ms. Wolfe if she was in the room with you?”

“Ms. Wolfe?” asked Raf. “Was that who you called for over the intercom?”

“Indeed. Ms. Berenice Wolfe, trauma surgeon with the RAMC?”

“Oh, right. I helped transport her from the medical army vehicle to Keller together with Guy Self a couple of weeks ago. Yeah, I remember her. What about her?”

“Was she in the operating room with you today?”

“Well, of course not. Didn’t she die in theater that same day? Shame. She was a real maverick in trauma surgery, from what I heard.”

“Right. Well, thank you mr. Di Lucca. Please refrain from speaking to anyone about the procedure, or our conversation here. If anyone wants to hear details, you can send them to me.”

“Okay..?” Raf looked at Serena, who just sat with her eyes closed, shaking her head. Then he looked back to Hanssen, who was regarding him silently but sternly. “Okay...eh. Right...eh...I’ll be off then.”

* * *

It was late when Serena finally arrived home that night. Jason was watching a documentary on the Inca, and had eaten a freezer meal. He wasn’t too upset about her missing Fish & Chips night, if she promised he would get an extra gurkin next week.

She sat down on the couch, feigning interest in the Inca as best as she could, but her mind was elsewhere. When the documentary had finally finished, and Jason finally got up to go to sleep, she immediately went to the kitchen to poor herself an additional glass of wine. Then she took her laptop out of the bag and went straight to google and typed “Berenice Wolfe” into the search bar. It took her a few tries to get the spelling right, but then she found several articles on trauma surgery by said Ms. Wolfe. And she also found a facebook page of a teenage girl that linked to an obituary, with an accompanying message of ‘dear mum, I miss you’. Serena took a healthy gulp of wine, and clicked on the link. A big black and white picture of Bernie Wolfe appeared. She looked right into the camera, with a little smirk. Serena felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Those eyes - without a shadow of a doubt - were the eyes above the mask in theater. This was - without a doubt - the woman who had shown up in her theater unannounced, and then safely guided her through a high risk procedure that she had never done before. 

Except for the fact that she absolutely couldn’t have done.

Serena had to put her wine glass down, because her hands were shaking too much. Perhaps it was the drinking. Perhaps she should dial that down for a bit. She was too late for Sober October, but Nonalcoholic November could perhaps be achieved. 

Then again - she successfully placed an atriocaval shunt, and she had been guided through it by some stranger who had been quite dead for a while. If she ever had a cause to drink, it was certainly tonight. She picked the wine glass back up with both shaky hands and downed the rest of the glass in one go. She then sat and stared at the picture for a good ten minutes, before resolutely closing her laptop. Time for bed - it would all look better after a good night’s sleep. 

Yet sleep eluded her. Instead she stared into the eyes of the late Bernie Wolfe in her mind’s eye, until the dawn announced another working day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spooking - Kandahar style!

_A week later._

*

“Thanks for the lift!” Serena shouted as she sped up the stairs to AAU.

“It was the least I could do. Good luck, Ms. Campbell,” said Mr. Hanssen. How he managed to sound so calm in the face of calamity, Serena would never know. For her part, her heart was racing. Partly from anticipation: she could forego all paperwork for the next few hours and actually do what she was good at: bringing people back to health. But her heart was mainly racing from adrenaline mixed with dread. A train had derailed nearby Holby and casualties were expected to flood in any minute, most of them were going to pass through AAU today. Some of them would be quite young, and she had no idea what level of injury to expect just yet. It was going to be bad though, that much was certain.

Why was she wearing these impossible shoes today? The fine straps were absolutely refusing to be unbuckled. Well...that had to be an issue to be dealt with later. She kicked her heels off as best as she could, while shrugging out of her black coat. They had all been at Arthur’s funeral when they were paged by the emergency services. She had to exchange her all-black clothes for the bright blue AAU scrubs.

“Oh, thank god you’re here. Ms. Campbell?” The face of a worried junior doctor appeared around the door of the locker room.

“Ah, yes! I will be right out - give me two minutes in peace, please!” Serena sternly called out. She sighed and dropped her head in her hands. The adrenaline was already coursing through her body. It was going to be hell. She put fresh scrubs on and Right...time to face the music.

As she stepped onto the ward, she saw that it was every bit as chaotic as she had feared. Junior doctors and nurses running around like headless chickens, assessing patients left right and center; experienced doctors and nurses trying to bring some order to the ward. She breathed deeply, and suddenly - mercifully - a deep calm descended upon her. 

“Mr. Fletch, how many beds have been cleared?”

“Twenty percent!” he shouted as he ran by.

“That’s not enough,” a husky voice responded. 

“No, I know _that_!” Serena replied, snappy. But the next moment all the hairs in the back of her neck stood up. She knew that voice. She didn’t need to turn around to know exactly who that voice belonged to - the mysterious trauma surgeon who had guided her through the atriocaval shunt procedure a week earlier. The very woman whose obituary she now knew by heart - whose children’s online life she was more intimately acquainted to as her own daughter’s by now - whose articles she had printed out and read before bed: the late, great Berenice Wolfe.  
She spun around.

And there she was indeed - wearing the same blue AAU scrubs that Serena was wearing, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her whole face visible now. She was every bit as beautiful as her obituary photograph. 

“You’re..,” Serena took a deep shuddering breath. “You’re dead.”

“Yes, and I know _that_.” 

“How...what..?” 

“This isn’t the time and place. People’s lives are on the line. We need to organise the ward as we used to do in the field. We can get through the numbers quicker and cleaner.” 

“Do you think?” Serena fiddled with her necklace.

“Guaranteed. Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” As she spoke the affirmation, Serena felt that she indeed trusted Bernie Wolfe blindly, as she had done in theater before. 

“Right then,” a brief smile played across Bernie’s face. In a rapid commanding tone, she spoke: “We need CT here, GS there…”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Serena. “The others? Can they hear you?” 

“I don’t think they can.” 

“Okay, okay… Let’s do this... Kandahar style!” Serena took another deep breath. Then she spoke in a loud voice: “Okay, everyone! Listen up and stop what you are doing, please! I want CT over here…!” She glanced at Bernie, who nodded. “GS over there!” 

“That senior nurse needs to stay where he is,” said Bernie.

“Fletch!” called Serena. “You need to stay where you are!” 

“We have to keep the patients moving through, we have to create a flow,” said Bernie to Serena.

“We have to keep the patients moving! We have to create a flow! Everyone on board? Okay, let’s get to it people!” She looked on in awe as the ward seemed to rearranged itself. The influx seemingly less overwhelming, junior doctors no longer fluttering aimlessly from bed to bed. She turned around to thank Bernie, but she was nowhere to be seen.  
For some reason Serena felt that she was still in the ward. The calm that she had felt in theater that day, the calm that had suddenly come over her in the midst of the chaos just now - it hadn’t left her yet. Bernie was around and she was watching over them - Serena just knew, as sure as she knew her own name. As ominous as it had seemed to her all week - that a deceased person had helped her through a difficult surgery - just as reassuring did it feel now to have the presence of said deceased woman on her ward. Instead of dreading ever seeing the spectre of the woman again, she was hoping it hadn’t been the last time their fates had intertwined.

* * * 

But she regretted that a couple of hours later. 

Fletch walked up to Serena. “I just had a call from the crash site…” 

“And?” Serena finished examining a patient and pulled up the side rails on the side of the bed.

“They are cutting the last of the casualties out now,” said Fletch. “They wanna know how many we can take?”

Serena sighed. “How many are there?”

“Six, three critical.” 

Serena shook her head. “We can’t cope with that.” 

Suddenly she saw the air sparkle behind Fletch, and as she blinked, Bernie stood behind him. “ _I_ think we can.” she said, in that unbearable calm voice of hers.

“We’re running at full capacity as it is!” replied an exasperated Serena. She was simply not in the mood.

“Yeah…” agreed Fletch.

But Bernie wouldn’t budge: “I’m sure we can make room! What’s the alternative?” 

Serena shook head. “They can be transferred to St. Austin’s.” 

Bernie pleaded: “You can’t send critically wounded patients 50 miles away when they could be here in 15 minutes.” 

Serena sternly interrupted: “We have to follow protocol!” 

“Right,” said Fletch, “So shall I...?” 

“I know it makes me sound like some sad desk job,” Serena interrupted him. 

“Not what I said.” Bernie looked down.

“But we put all the patients at risk.” 

“I honestly think we can do it!” 

“Ugh...” Serena put her hand on her throat, trying to calm down her breathing. “I haven’t got the energy for this.”

“I’m loving your monologue, but I just need the decision,” said Fletch.

Bernie looked at her pleadingly, but Serena looked away from her and addressed Fletch. “It’s a no,” she stated.

“Thank you.” he said, as he briskly walked away to relay the decision. 

“What are you trying to prove?” asked Serena, now alone with Bernie.

“Nothing!” replied Bernie. 

“We have _viable_ alternatives. We’re not on the battlefield. It doesn’t have to be so gung-ho..!”

“I’m just trying to do my best for the patients.”

“Oh.” Serena’s voice dropped an octave lower. “And I’m not.” She turned away, feeling the implications of Bernie’s words cut through her very core. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Bernie had left. The anxious energy that was her life’s constant companion had rushed back in. With trembling hands, she picked up a patient’s file. _I need a coffee,_ she thought to herself. _This wasn’t real - this is just some strange reaction to stress. I just need a coffee, and perhaps some therapy._

* * *

A coffee didn’t do anything to push down her anxiety - if anything: it heightened it. The amount of patients seemed never ending, and if it hadn’t been for the system that Bernie had helped her to establish, she wouldn’t have been able to tame the chaos at all. 

She was standing at the nurses station, with a view on a patient’s room.The patient’s family were all gathered around him, singing prayers to him in some middle eastern language. It sounded eerie and outlandish, and it gave her the chills.

Actually no - it calmed her down considerably. How odd. As her anxiety seemed to seep out of her, and a calm quiet took hold, she realised precisely what this sudden calm feeling meant.

“Here for the singing?” she asked - seemingly to no one.

The air crackled, and Bernie stood close by, leaning against the doorframe, looking through the small window into the room. Without looking at Serena she said: “Heard a lot of it over the years.”

“Ah yes, Iran was it?” She bloody well knew it hadn’t been Iran - she could spell the obituary backwards, but she wasn’t about to confess that to some figment of her imagination that had just been insulting her, on her own ward no less.

“Iraq.” Bernie words were clipped.

“Bad memories?”

Bernie shook her head. “Envy.”

“Of _what_?!”

“Being able to open up and show all that emotion,all that love.” Bernie took a deep breath. 

Even that annoyed Serena. If Bernie was so dead, what on earth was she breathing for? Serena angrily shuffled some papers.

“Never was like that with one of mine…” Bernie’s voice had lost its edge now. She sounded wistful.

Serena studied her for a few moments. Bernie seemed so real - like she could just reach out and touch her. An intense need to do just that engulfed her for a moment. She shook her head, and looked down to her papers. “Well...there’s something to be said for good old British reserve!”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Bernie turn around. She felt Bernie’s gaze upon her. It made her skin tingle. Bernie stood there, watching her, for long seconds. Then she said: “Not if it’s something you’re hiding behind.”

Serena looked up. Their eyes met for a brief moment. The endless depths of Bernie’s eyes, and the sincerity with which Bernie had just called her out, made her stomach drop.  
Then Bernie walked away.

“Sta…” Serena coughed. She had almost asked the spirit of the late Bernie Wolfe to stay near. Which was obviously a bad idea. Right? Obviously.

Then again, the mild buzzing of the anxiety, that took hold of her again immediately, wasn’t a very good idea either.

* * *

Mr. Hanssen walked into Serena’s office just as she was packing up to go to Arthur’s wake, wearing her black civilian clothes once more.

“Impressive work today,” Mr. Hanssen stated. 

“Thank you.”

“I spoke to several doctors on the ward today, and saw how everything was set up. There was an efficiency to the triage and treatment that was extraordinary. Did you operate under a new organisational model?”

“Thanks, yes, we tried out something new.”

“What gave you the inspiration?” he asked.

“Well, it was set up as a f…” She looked down at her shoes, blushing. “As a field trauma hospital, actually.”

“Hm,” he studied her intently for a few moments. “Perhaps it is time we invested in a proper trauma unit for AAU?” 

She looked up. “Really?” 

“Have the proposal on my desk within two weeks. I’ll see what I can do.” He nodded. “Good work, Ms. Campbell. And - working under the hypothesis that _she_ is still around - tell her thank you.” 

“Y..yes, I will.”

* * *

As Serena walked out of AAU and into the lifts, the enormity of her grief for Arthur began to dawn on her again. It had been neatly held back by the constant flow of work in the aftermath of the train derailment, but now the wake and a subsequent lonely night were looming big and dark before her.  
She took a few steps towards Albie’s, but found that she just couldn’t go - not yet.  
She took a turn towards the hospital gardens. She had buried her mother’s ashes here not too long ago. She stood near the shrubbery and took a shaky breath, fingers fidgeting in her coat pocket. Searching for something, anything to calm her down. If only she still smoked..! What she wouldn’t give for the calm of the nicotine flowing through her body?! It almost seemed like that thought alone, flooded her with calm strength. She took a deep breath. And then, almost immediately, understood that it hadn’t been the imaginary nicotine, but her imaginary friend that was providing her with some mental stability again.

“Here to gloat?” she snapped. She felt the air buzz and saw Bernie from the corner of her eyes.

“No.” Bernie’s voice sounded sincere.

“What then?”

“You were standing here all by yourself. Seemed like you could do with a friend. Someone that has your back?”

It sounded like the exact thing Serena needed right now, but there was just one little detail missing. “You’re not real.”

“Then who are you talking to?”

“I don’t know...some elaborate fantasy that my mind has fabricated under great stress and sadness?”

Bernie frowned. “Well, how about this, Serena Campbell!” She pointed at her. “Occam’s razor.”

“Hm?” 

“For every accepted explanation of a phenomenon, there are an incomprehensible number of more complex alternatives.”

“Well, _you_ can be on my quiz team,” Serena replied with the sarcasm dripping off every word.

Bernie gestured wildly. “I’m just saying: mostly the simplest explanation is the right one. Perhaps I’m dead, but not quite gone.” 

“Then where is Arthur?” 

“Do you mean to ask: is he still around too?” 

“Yeah.” Serena looked up at Bernie. The sky was drab and overcast, yet Bernie looked as if she was bathed in a constant, personal sunbeam, a soft light flowing around her.

“I don’t think he is. There are a few of us, but I guess Arthur didn’t have any unfinished business.”

“And you do?”

“I suppose… I was sent back, anyway.”

“By whom?”

“I can’t say exactly…”

“Is it a secret?”

“No, but I just don’t know the words to describe it. It was all rather overwhelming, this dying business… I was sent back, but my body was no longer...uhm, inhabitable, I suppose.” Bernie shrugged. “I’m in a kind of in-between place.”

“So this is as strange for you, as it is for me?” asked Serena.

“Oh yes.” Bernie nodded. “And I have no idea why you can see me. Nobody seems to be able to. Do you see the others?” 

“Not that I know of. Thank goodness. One of you is quite enough, thank you very much.” 

“Hm." Bernie smiled. "I sometimes think that the CEO feels my presence. He sometimes looks directly at me and nods.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Serena. “Mr. Hanssen told me to thank you for reorganising the ward. He had an inkling that you had inspired me.”

They stood in silence for a while. Serena revelled in her internal peace. She could do with a whole lot more of that, before going to Albie’s. “Come with me to Arthur’s wake?” she asked.

“Can’t. I seem to be bound to the hospital’s grounds.”

“Oh...” Serena grimaced. “I’ll have to face that on my own then.”

“You’ll be alright,” said Bernie. She put her arm around Serena’s shoulders and squeezed. Serena sighed.

“Do you feel that?”

“What?” asked Serena, hoping Bernie wasn’t somehow sensing how her heart had sped up.

“My arm?”

“Yes,of course.” 

Bernie let out a shuddering breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Is it?” Serena looked at Bernie, with a little smile.

Bernie nodded and looked to the ground. Then she looked back up into Serena’s eyes. “You make me feel solid,” she said.

“Likewise,” said Serena.

They stood in silence for a while. Then Serena shook her head, as if to wake herself up. “I have to go..”

“Right…” Bernie reluctantly let go of Serena.

“Will I see you around?” 

Bernie shrugged. “I hope so?” 

Serena nodded and smiled. “I hope so.”


End file.
